For as Long as I've Known You
by WittyisGeorge17
Summary: Everyone's had to cope with loss. Even the good guys. Harry, Hermione, Ron and the gang are all back for their last year at Hogwarts, with some major changes. Feelings have shifted, people have changed, and other's are hiding what they truly feel. HG/GW
1. Fall Encounters

**A/N: Bear in mind that I haven't written in quite awhile, and never with this book, nor these two particular characters. I loved the idea, and really wish that these two had gotten paired together much more often. It's an obvious choice. I don't own Harry Potter (though J.K. Rowling, I've heard, does.) This story is set after the Second Wizard War, and follows an AU plotline. Sort of. This chapter may not make a lot of sense at first, but I needed a scene in which to introduce my character's, their happiness, and pain, and the differences in their lives as of now. Thank you. Read and review!**

Sunlight glanced of the surface of the lake, effectively blinding the tight clusters of Hogwarts students that had chosen to spend their Saturday afternoon enjoying the last few gorgeous days that autumn had to offer. Term had started nearly a week ago and, though Hermione had been attempting to bait them into starting their school work early (though most Professors had yet to hand out any homework), Harry and Ron had finally persuaded her to join them in reveling in the golden rays of the afternoon sun. One day of relaxation, they had argued, couldn't hurt, and then they'd have more than enough school work to keep them busy for the rest of the year. And what a year, they daydreamed; it was going to be…

You see, it was the Golden Trio's last year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and they planned on making the most of it. The previous term, which had begun last September, had been ignored, what with the ongoing war with Lord Voldemort they had nearly all been involved in, and the losses they had taken. Professor McGonagall, now headmistress of Hogwarts, had announced last summer while students and family members helped rebuild the fallen castle that everyone would be returning to further, or in many of the older student's cases finish, their education, as it had been sorely interrupted. This being decided, it was arranged that those who had already been attending the school would remain in their respective years, and incoming first years would be placed with the previous year's first years for a combined class. Though this increased the number of students meandering the halls, and had the heads of houses enlarging first year dormitories on the first day back, no one complained, and all were welcome. There had even been a few cases in which students who had graduated from the school the spring before the war had asked to come back and complete their own educations, feeling that the devastation and destruction that Voldemort had encouraged had interrupted their learning far earlier than everyone had thought. Among these students, whom McGonagall had kindly allocated beds in the dormitories of the current seventh years, were George Weasley, Ron's older brother who had left the school before graduating due to unpleasant teaching techniques, and his best friend Lee Jordan. Most of the others were, of course, friendly and familiar faces, but had not come back as a part of Gryffindor House.

That's how, you understand, that on this particular day Hermione was introduced into a world the likes of which she never would have been able to conjure up, even in her wildest dreams. And she wasn't even aware of it.

"You two!" Hermione giggled, watching as Harry and Ron made faces at one another over the magical wizarding chessboard they had brought with them on to the grounds. This laughing comment, instead of embarrassing the boys into a mature state, just urged their childish antics higher and soon had them wrestling along the edge of the lake, rolling through the grimy surf, and causing bits of mud and seaweed to stick at odd angles out of their hair.

"Oi, Harry! Geroff me!" Ron shouted indignantly as Harry pulled him into a headlock, laughing even as he struggled fiercely against Harry's stranglehold. Harry, the slighter and shorter of the two, and so unused to being at such an advantage, refused, chuckling as his grip tightened still further. Ron's face was slowly turning a brilliant shade of purple as he puffed playfully, still attempting to roll over enough to flip Harry onto the ground in front of him. Hermione, though still laughing, was now considering calling Harry off so that they could eat the picnic she had packed for the three of them, when a familiar, though not enough to immediately recognize, voice sounded in her ear.

"Care to bet I could take the both of them? Single-handedly?" She turned slightly to see who it was who had managed to sneak up on her, and started when she found George Weasley, the surviving of Ron's twin brother's leaning in closer than she had expected. His face was so near her own she could practically feel his cheek touching hers, could feel his easy breaths upon the shell of her ear, and the warmth emanating from him had her shivering slightly, as if a chill breeze had suddenly blown over her. Quickly, she regained her composure, and offered him a cheerful smile, noticing the way his own lopsided grin still seemed a little forced, and didn't reach his eyes. It hadn't in awhile.

"I've got-let's see here…" She rummaged in the picnic basket, looking for something suitable to bet with, "I've got three Cauldron Cakes, five Chocolate Frogs, and, well, lunch with the three of us that says you can't." She looked up, expecting him to be studying the boys' ongoing wrestling match that had continue to move farther down the expanse of grounds leading to the lake. They were now dangerously close to pushing one another in. Instead though, she found his eyes, so intensely blue and filled with hidden depths, locked on her own person. She glanced away swiftly, feeling a blush rush to heat up her cheeks; despite the fact that she knew she shouldn't feel any embarrassment. She had, of course, known George for as long as she had known any of the others, going on eight years now, and if they were not extremely close, she still considered him a part of her magical family.

"As enticing as lunch with the, er, three of you sounds," George said, looking away to where Harry and Ron were now splashing one another with lake water, having already fallen in and soaked themselves, "Lee and I are planning a quick trip to Hogsmeade as soon as the clock strikes one." He grinned over at her conspiratorially, and she felt her breath hitch just a little, fortunately though, it was noticeable only to her. "I will, however, take you up on the desserts. Never miss a chance to decrease my health!" He laughed lowly, sardonically, as though he found the thoughts that accompanied his words somehow morbidly amusing. He rose from his crouching position beside her, slipped his wand from his robes, and gave it an experimental flick of his wrist. Satisfied, he waved it lazily in the direction of the lake, and Hermione watched with baited breathe as the water behind Harry and Ron began to gather, and slowly move towards them. As it advanced, it collected height as water rushed from its edges to give it increased volume and, once it had reached a good twelve feet and positioned itself just behind the boys, throwing a dark shadow over them, it stopped. The both of them, having noticed the sudden darkness, looked up, no doubt expecting to see a passing cloud blocking the otherwise luminous sunlight, and finally noticed the now fourteen foot wave. Twin expressions of panic flitted across their faces, and they turned, searching the shore line for where they had left Hermione, finally coming across George's tall figure.

"GEORGE!" Ron yelled angrily, shaking a wet fist in his brother's direction as he and Harry started running back to shore before the wave decided to topple on them.

George, however, was smirking slightly, and waved cheekily back at Ron and Harry, at the same time letting his wand, which had increased in height along with the wave, come to a swishing stop at his hip. He chuckled again as the wave washed over both Ron and Harry, and turned to Hermione to gather up his prizes before they could swim back to shore and attempt to overpower him.

"You're merciless." Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth, shoving the sweets in his direction, but she was smiling all the same, and struggling not to let out the full-fledged laugh that threatened to escape.

"To the core." George replied solemnly, before yet another half smile broke through the serious demeanor he had adopted, and his sparkling blue eyes locked onto her dancing brown ones. He tucked the last cake into his robes, his eyes never leaving her own, and reached out a long-fingered, masculine hand, complete with calluses, as if to brush a stray curl back, before he dropped it suddenly and turned, striding away in the direction of the castle. She watched him jog slowly up to the double doors where he met up with Lee, gave him a hardy pat on the back, and started off in the direction of Hogsmeade, her brow furrowed and her expression confused. She was brought quickly back to the present, however, when a soaking Ron flopped down beside her, followed by a thoroughly sodden Harry.

"'d you see what that great git did to us 'Mione?" Ron asked through a mouthful of corned beef and pumpkin juice. "'s unfair 'at was." She just laughed lightly and prodded the back of his head, replying that maybe if he wasn't such a clumsy brick head, he'd have managed to get out of Harry's stranglehold earlier, and have avoided the situation entirely. Harry agreed, and laughed at the expression on Ron's face that clearly told them that he'd expected a little more sympathy.

Minutes later though it was Hermione's turn to defend herself when, unfailingly, Harry managed to call her out on the missing cauldron cakes, "Hey 'Mione, you didn't eat ALL the cakes by yourself did you?" She sputtered indignantly, exclaiming that a girl would never eat all those sweets in one sitting.

"Even I have to watch my figure!" She'd shouted at them after what had to be their tenth weight insult.

"Well," Ron said, pretending to glower at her from under his lashes, "where did they all go then?"

Hermione, flustered now and remembering her odd encounter with the older Weasley brother, found herself not wanting to tell the boy's that her bet had caused their slight humiliation.

"You know, actually," Hermione ground out, glaring at the two of them, "maybe I WAS a little hungry."


	2. New Times, Old Dreams

**I know I haven't written in a while. Okay, in a very long time. And I sincerely apologize, but that's life. If you're still around and reading, however, I mean to reward your patience with a new chapter, though I can't vouch for the quality. It may not make much sense at first, because of the new way it's going to be written from here on out, but bear with me. She's reliving some things and they need to be said. It's going to be a little bit of back story for the first few chapters, until I can get the action sufficiently underway! Here's to Rowling and her character's, and especially to our favorites! Read and Review please! **

**I'd also like to mention that the rest of the story will be written in First Person Perspective, in relation to Hermione. Welcome to the world of women folks. **

The adventures the three of us had had together had been terrifying, even before the war. But we'd stuck together throughout it all, rejoicing when times were peaceful and running for our lives when people began getting closer to killing Harry. After all, he was Ron and I's best friend, and we hadn't planned on letting anything happen to him. There was also the promise I had made to Ginny just before we left to hunt horcruxes, which was to bring Harry back, missing limbs or no. I knew how much she loved him. Sometimes, when I lay awake at night I wondered how it was possible for such a young woman to love someone so strongly that the rest of the world would cease to exist if that person weren't there. Other times, I was just jealous.

I had dreamed for a very long time of a love like that. At one time I'd thought it was entirely possible, and had been willing to try anything to make it succeed. Then the actual war had begun, and every thought of romance had flown out the metaphorical window. Survival and success were vital if anything other than evil and darkness was to be associated with the title "wizard." It had been an excruciatingly long battle, full of pain and blood, tears of frustration and of grief, and a drive so fierce as too consume all else. At least, it had been until that fateful moment when Ron kissed me for the very first time. I hadn't been expecting it, but I had wanted it too. For as long as I could remember I'd wanted to be with Ron. Not Harry, as everyone expected. The cliché of the dashing young hero of the modern wizarding world falling for the brains behind it all was too much for me to handle. Besides that, as much as I loved Harry as a friend, even a brother, I wasn't physically attracted to him. Shallow as that may seem, I believe that everyone must be at least a little bit attracted to the physical aspects of their partner in order for their interest to be held. I'd realized quickly that Harry and I were not, nor would we ever be, attracted to one another's bodies. Ron, however…

I'd always had a thing for red heads. The way sunlight would dance over the many shades and highlights infused into their hair had been intriguing to me, even at a young age. Ron, therefore, quickly usurped anyone else in whatever race for my romantic affections there may have been. He had the hair, he possessed a pair of the most beautiful green eyes, his smile was infectious, his loyalty to Harry and I was unfaltering, and he was kind. He had seemed, for many years, to be my perfect match. And, for as many years, he never knew it. A simple kiss, in the middle of chaos, had changed everything of course, as I'd known it would. After everything had calmed and the bodies of our fallen comrades had been respectfully moved to the Great Hall for cleansing and prayers before burial, Ron had come to find me. In shock at the events of the last few hours, I had been shaking terribly, standing in the arms of a grief stricken Molly Weasley as she cried her heart out onto the shoulder of my midnight school robes. Fred, one of her fourth sons, had died in the effort to overthrow the reach of the Dark Lord. His twin George sat silently next to his body, face blank and motionless, save for the tears that fell unheeded from his dark blue eyes. I had long since cried myself dry for all the friends I had lost, each of them as dear to me as family. I can remember extricating myself from Mrs. Weasley's grasp, and steering her towards the more comforting arms of her Husband, Arthur. That's when Ron had stumbled into the Great Hall, eyes roving restlessly through the room, seeking out the familiar faces of his family.

_"Oh God. No. NO!" He had shouted it, gathering looks of sympathy from grief stricken classmates and teachers, friends and order members, throughout the crowded room. His face, always so genial, was molded into a mask of such intense pain that it took my breath away. His mother, upon hearing his cry, had turned from the embrace of her husband to envelop her youngest son instead, and they had stood together, Mrs. Weasley quieting her sobs in order to soothe her son and Ron, tears pouring from eyes filled to the brim with pain, suffering, and loss that only time could begin to erase. _

_ "Mum," he'd whispered into the near silence, dropping to his knees and crawling forward to take Fred's hand before turning to stare at the rest of his family, "how?" His voice cracked on the last word, and his hand convulsed on that of his brother's, as if to offer comfort to the wounded body, with no regard to the departed soul. _

_ "Oh Ron," Molly had breathed in quiet desperation, "he was fighting with George through the upper hallways, and they were doing so well." Her lips trembled with a renewed wave of pain, but she struggled on, and my heart broke with the knowledge that nothing I could do would help ease the burden she now carried. "They got separated, and neither noticed at first, in the midst of things as they were. That's when attacks on the walls got stronger, and the main one in the hall that Fred had been fighting in gave way. He had time for one last curse before it…before it fell. H-he d-didn't make it out in t-time."_

_ I watched in complete silence as Ron's countenance changed entirely. From solemn grief, his expression turned to one of utter rage as he rounded on his surviving twin brother, still staring sightlessly into the face of the man who had been, for his entire life, the other half of his personality. _

_ "You!" Ron had yelled accusingly at George, standing and pointing a long white finger at his brother's bloody shirt collar. "You could have saved him, if you hadn't run off and left him in that hallway by himself, fighting for his life! You SHOULD have been there, you filthy coward! But you weren't! The one person who couldn't be separated from him for anything and you chose that moment to assert your individuality! Well, how do you feel? Fred's dead! Dead, because you couldn't be persuaded to stick around once the going got tough! Filthy, skulking, rotten excuse for a…" By this point, Ron was entirely red in the face, Molly was gesturing wildly, still in hysterics, attempting to reason with Ron's fiery temper, and Arthur was attempting to calm Molly. I, however, was still standing off to the side, dealing with my grief silently and waiting for my remaining friends to come to terms with the tragedies that had befallen them. Ron's tirade snapped me out of my memories of the twins' pranks against Professor Umbridge in our fifth year rather quickly though and I moved forward and toward the two boys without conscious thought. All I knew was that Ron was wrong to be saying those things to George. That it hadn't been George's fault that he and Fred had been separated by fatal hexes, and continued fighting their own battles instead of circling back to one another. It wasn't George's fault that a curse of such extreme magnitude hadn't hit the wall beside him as well, not his fault that as the battle slowed he had come upon the devastating scene and discovered Fred, life fading fast, crushed beneath the monumental stones that held up the magical castle. Incensed at the unfairness of life, at the tragedy of the war, at the brutality of the words Ron was yelling, I finally snapped. I could feel the tiny elastic band in my mind break as I walked inexorably closer to that head of gleaming red hair, disheveled from activity, and reached out, seeking to do anything to end the barrage of hateful words uttered in haste and without due thought to the consequences. I watched, detached, as my hand swung out in a wide arc and connected solidly with the side of Ron's jaw. Said personage, having been engaged in drawing another breath to continue his list of insults, promptly reclosed his mouth and looked over at me in surprised outrage, and a fair hand came up to touch the spot I had struck. Chest heaving with suppressed emotion and surprise at my own actions I had turned on my heel and started to make my way toward the wide double doors that would allow me a brief respite from the muffled and sweaty atmosphere that pervaded over every person in the room. Before I left, however, I had managed a glance back, and felt an overwhelming sense of triumph, trivial though it was. Ron had stopped yelling at his brother and was instead standing sullenly next to his father, cheeks still wet, and rubbing viciously at the red hand imprinted on his face. George, though having seemed not to hear anything that had been directed at him in the last few minutes, was a much more surprising site. He had been sitting still, body hunched protectively over that of Fred's as if he was trying to see his brother's soul safe the way he hadn't his body, but his head, that mop of red and copper and gold, was turned slightly in my direction, watching me walk away. His eyes, so dead when I had first entered the room, showed stirrings of the intelligence he'd left momentarily locked away, of the feelings that he was too afraid to let out, lest they consume him. He had nodded then, when he noticed my glance, chin jerked quickly toward the floor in a motion of thanks for my defense of his actions, and then the moment had ended, and he had turned once again to the prone form before him, one last tear slipping over the alabaster slope of his cheekbones. _

_ I had sat alone after that episode ended, for a substantial duration of time, before I was interrupted in my ruminations by the sound of harried footsteps rushing down the hallway. I looked up, expecting to see one of the professors scanning the rubble for any more survivors, or bodies. That thought sickened me though, and I swept it from the forefront on my mind, focusing instead on my soon to be visitor as they hurtled around a pile of rubbish to find me crumpled into a useless heap on the bottom steps of the grand staircase that led to the upper floors. _

_ "So this is where you went." He wasn't happy with me, I could tell that much. After being solidly punched in the mouth after the day we'd all been through, I wouldn't have been happy with me either. He'd deserved it though and, from the sigh he heaved as he lowered himself to sit beside me, he knew it too. _

_ "I shouldn't have said those things to George. I apologized to him, after you left. He didn't say anything, but he heard me. I was grieving, and I know that isn't a very good excuse for what I yelled at him, but it's the only one I have. I'll never be able to take it back, but I'll always regret that I ever did anything to hurt him. He's the one that's the lost the most, out of the family that is, and I should have realized that and left him alone." He was rambling, and the hands that he held in his lap were twisting furiously with grief and nervousness. Slowly, I reached over and took the nearest one with both of my own, clasping tightly in a gesture meant to convey wordless comfort and forgiveness. He broke down again then, and sank even lower on the steps, until his head was resting in my lap and I could feel the warmth from his tears soaking through my robes to the jeans I was wearing beneath. I stroked his hair for what seemed like hours, murmuring words of comfort and friendship, until Harry joined us, looking haggard and spent. He took up a position on Ron's other side, and grasped his shoulder, tight enough that his knuckles gleamed white in the gathering darkness of the ruined fortress that had been our home for so many years. Together, we watched the light fade completely from the indigo sky, secure in the knowledge that we still had another; friends standing tall beneath the burdens life rained down on us. _

_ In the middle of everything, that one kiss had been forgotten. In that moment of peace, I remembered it, and I could feel in his motions and posture the moment Ron remembered it as well. He had looked over at me then, his face half hidden in shadow, and I had smiled sadly in acceptance of what we had both come to terms with over the course of the last half of the day. Together as friends, we made an impeccable team, forged by an unbreakable bond. Together as life partners, we would only be trying to force two incompatible personalities to cohabitate, a fate neither of us deserved. After so much destruction everyone was in need of as much happiness the rest of their life could bring them, and for me and Ron that wasn't going to be found with one another. When we parted, it was with a bear hug, the air crushed from my lungs and my bruised ribs squeezed so tightly I could almost feel them grinding against one another, and it was the best hug I've ever had the honor to receive. But it wasn't a hug the likes of which would begin the type of love affair I had once dreamed of, and I had squeezed him back, a silent thank you for the childish dreams he was handing back to my wounded heart. _

Now, as I walked up to the rebuilt stone mass of the school, I smiled. The last of summer's rays of sunshine lanced down onto the heads of my two best friends, sopping wet from their excursion into the lake, and everyone was healing. For some the process was slower than for others. I couldn't help thinking of George and the hidden secrets of his eyes that hadn't been there previously. Lost in thought I continued the climb from hill, to door, to staircase, to dorm, to bedroom without once making a sound, an occurrence that if my companions noticed, they didn't comment on. Even I, talkative as I was, was allowed the occasional moment of silence to reflect and remember, and I was grateful that there were no untoward interruptions, no curious first years around to ask painful questions. Once in the single room I had received upon being selected a school prefect I headed to the bathroom, a whitewashed sanctuary where my thoughts were mine alone. I rinsed the days grime from face and neck, patted my hair as flat as it would go, and flashed myself a weary smile. Though not unattractive, I wasn't nearly as classically pretty as Lavender, or as darkly mystifying Cho, but I wasn't ugly. No, I thought positively, I was a little above average, with straight teeth, and angular features, my body toned by years of running after evil masterminds to help Harry save the wizarding world. Love was still an option then, someday. With that uplifting thought in mind I turned and left the room, seeking instead the comfort of my bookshelf, a gift from my parents in the muggle world, and selected a large tome entitled _Pride and Prejudice. _It wasn't a school textbook, which might have been unusual for me, in another time, but it was my favorite muggle book, and the one that kept me believing that there was someone out there for everyone, despite our varied faults. Flipping the well-worn pages casually, I came to a stop in the middle of the book, at the part where dear Mr. Darcy is revealing his love for Miss Elizabeth Bennett for the first time. Grinning, I meandered back down the girls' staircase; nose shoved into the spine of my book, I took my usual place in one of the plush wingback chairs, sighing in contentment at the opportunity to tuck my feet under me and lose myself in a world where the choices were, for once, not my own.


	3. Contained Sorrows

**Well, like always I own nothing of this except the plot, and I'm not even sure exactly where that's going. As for everything else, I hope you're enjoying the store as it slowly begins, and I hope you will continue to enjoy it as it begins to come together. Also, I enjoy reviews just like every other author, and I would love to hear what you all have to think! With that in mind, Read and Review! **

I stayed curled up and withdrawn in my sanctuary well past the evening meal down in the Great Hall. Besides not feeling the usual twinges of hunger that normally would have roused me from my solitary confinement, I couldn't bring myself to leave the comforting caress of the fire. Its curling tendrils of heat enveloped me, holding me in the safety of its touch, and the babble of voices that had thundered down the multiple staircases in the Gryffindor common room hadn't seemed, in that moment, the least bit enticing. I was, for once, completely on my own, and I reveled in the knowledge, glad that not even Harry and Ron had given my absence a second thought. Having experienced the beginning of the school year feasts before, I knew that no one would intrude upon my moment of quiet for at least a few hours, busy as they would be partaking of the multiple coursed meals. I smiled and let my legs unfurl from beneath me, closed my book with a muted sigh, and stretched my arms above my head, feeling the stretch and pull of cramped muscles releasing. I rose and took a turn about the room, admiring the portraits of ancient witches and wizards that adorned the circular walls.

"Cozy little scene you've got set up here, isn't it?" The light baritone, seeming to have floated out from the wall behind me, startled me into turning around. I could feel the surprise flit across my features as I took in the man standing in front of me, but I quickly schooled them back into fixed casualness. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable in the face of my quietness, and moved to sit on the plush red couch that was the centerpiece of the immense room, trailing behind him a brown leather knapsack, filled to bulging with God knew what. I watched in silence as he settled himself, affecting indifference to my lack of conversation, before I finally let myself speak.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be back so soon." My voice was pitched low, it sounded muted in the coziness of the room that surrounded it, enveloped by the mass of fluffed pillows, giant throws, and clawed wingback chairs. I especially hadn't expected George Weasley, of all people, to have been the first back. Then again, he wasn't the most social person lately; convinced as I'm sure he was that his happiness was a betrayal to Fred's memory. He smiled sardonically back at me, the left side of his mouth quirking up slightly at the corner, giving him a rakish look in the basking half-lit glow from the fire, still partially shaded by the chair I had previously occupied.

"I never went down to dinner with the rest. Just got back from Hogsmeade actually." He motioned with the fingers of his right hand to the bag lying on the floor by his booted feet, explaining without words the reason for both his absence for the majority of the afternoon, and his early retirement to the padded confines of the common room. I was curious to know what he'd bought, but respected his silence regarding his new inventions, and the ingredients that went into his existing products. The silence between us, left behind after his last response, started to press down on me and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, debating whether to grab a late dinner from the house elves below the kitchen, or make a run directly to my room. My stomach chose that moment to make its presence known, emitting a loud gurgle that increased the color in my cheeks from fireside glow, to creeping pink flush. I hoped George wouldn't notice, but thought it rather unlikely, considering the amused glint that had entered his cerulean eyes.

"I guess it's a good thing I thought to bring back dinner, seeing as I knew I'd be out late. Sit down Granger, we can share." He bent to the irregular proportions of his bag, opened the flap, and began digging around for the food he'd supposedly brought. As unappetizing as crushed mincemeat sandwiches from Sir Pelican's Bistro and Deli sounded, I wasn't in a position to complain. Nervously, aware that though I'd known George for as long as I had Ron and Harry I'd never really gotten to _know_ him, I made my way over to the unoccupied cushion on the couch and sat down, tucking my skirts in around me.

"Can I help at all?" I asked. I was unused to letting people do anything that required serving me on their own, and felt useless with my hands folded demurely in my lap. He noticed my hesitation to stay still, and glanced up from pulling a seemingly endless array of packages from the still engorged pack. I felt a brief moment of admiration for the quality of his Expanding Charm.

"Relax Granger. I've got two hands left, even if I've only got the one ear. Besides, wouldn't want you hitting your pretty little hands against anything harmful I've got in my bag. It'll just take a moment more." His crooked smile twisted a little on the mention of his missing ear, no doubt bringing to mind his other loss, greater than anything I could imagine. He had been an entire person once, happy and care free, living out life with his double by his side. Now, with Fred gone, so too was half of George's own personality. So integrated into one another's thoughts the twins had been, that separation had erased many of the positive thoughts that had used to fill George's mind. He finished unpacking the necessary provisions quickly, his hands moving surely back and forth from bag to table, table to bag. As food piled up in front of us, I began to realize that my initial assumptions of a foray into Hogsmeade's deli couldn't have been more off.

Lying before me on glittering plates were all the delicacies that Hogwarts could muster. For our dinner George had secured roasted mutton, an entire turkey shrunken to a more portable size, shepherd's pie, roast and creamed potatoes, and some asparagus and spinach salad with a light honey mustard glaze to drizzle over the top. Mouth watering slightly, I leaned forward and sniffed delicately at the many dishes before me, and continued to wait, albeit impatiently, for George to finish, though I couldn't imagine him needing anything else. Finally pulling out a shimmering silver flask and using a copycat charm to create a double of the matching silver goblet, George turned to me, auburn bangs gleaming in the light of the fire.

"To finding a rare moment of peace and quiet," he murmured, pouring a healthy dose of iced pumpkin juice into each of the goblets. I picked mine up and stared contemplatively at the man across from me, lightly clinking my cup to his before raising it to my lips and sipping, the sweet fluid sliding in a curiously unfamiliar burn down the back of my throat. _Whisky_, I thought dimly, remembering an encounter with the unpleasant effects of that liquid when taken undiluted after a rather frightening encounter with a group of death eaters while on the run with Harry. While not unpleasant when mixed with the pumpkin juice, its presence there in the first place had me wondering just how well George was really coming along in the healing department, if he'd resorted to the use of alcohol in a personal flask that could be sipped at will throughout the day. He was still watching me, eyes guarded as I continued to partake of my drink, and when I didn't say anything about the unnatural taste, he smiled slightly, shrugged, and turned instead to the food, no doubt hungry after being out all day.

"Well Miss Granger, I suggest we get started. This might take awhile, and I'm sure you'll have to get back to your studies sooner, rather than later." He reached forward and grabbed one of the plates, passed it to me, and began to fill his own with an incredible array of food. Deciding that I really was quite hungry as well, I picked up a fork and began dishing up what would make my own dinner, realizing that by the time I'd loaded the plate with my chosen dishes, I had amount that almost equaled that of the infamous Weasley twin's. Self-conscious at the completely unflattering glance he ran down the length of my figure upon seeing the portion sizes divided neatly on my plate, I wasted no time in confiding in him that since my rather early luncheon that afternoon I had had nothing to eat, and had not had the time for breakfast that morning. He just smiled at me through a mouthful of roast and potatoes, and continued eating, not pausing to offer even the smallest of apologies.

After finishing what we could of the miniature feast spread before us, George and I reclined in our respective seats. He sat sprawled quite languidly over the plush red sofa that occupied one side of the room, while I returned to curl back into my chair in front of the fireplace with a muted "Thank you for the food George."A muffled, "Humph," was heard from that general direction as I picked up the book I had previously lain down, and I assumed it was in acknowledgment of my statement. Returning to the page I had left off on, I quickly became re-immersed in the tale of judgmental love depicted by the unwilling Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. Neither had ever expected to fall for one like the other, and yet, in the end, theirs was a love worth fighting for, worth waiting for. Someday I hoped to find something like that. Maybe not quite so full of drama and family strife, but certainly the type of feelings that would leave me weak in the knees and enamored for life. Then again, the chances of that were limited for a now famous bookworm like me, and I sighed, imagining a lonely life filled with grumpy companions like Crookshanks, who had escaped the war with a missing left ear, but no severe damage.

"I lo-I lo- I love you."

"What kind of rubbish are you reading, Granger?" George's voice sounded just over my shoulder, and I jumped slightly, blushing and closing my book with a definitive snap. I hadn't even realized he'd made his way over to my side of the room, much less to my immediate vicinity, and I chided myself on not paying close enough attention to my surroundings. _You'd think a war would've trained your senses a little better Hermione, _I thought sarcastically, intensely angry that I had let myself slip up.

"It's not rubbish George Weasley!" I used my most commanding prefect voice, scolding and incriminatory. "It's beautiful. Not that you would understand, being the obnoxious person you are." I immediately felt terrible, and I turned in my seat to apologize, whipping around in time to see him cover up the shock of being verbally attacked by a quiet bookworm, and the hurt at being assumed incapable of higher emotions.

"You're right Granger," he stated quietly, "love isn't something I'd understand. At least not the romantic kind. I did love though, once. A different kind of love that endured the obstacles of life, and is currently transcending the boundaries of death. My brother, my _twin_ was the closest person to me in the world. He knew all my secrets, my thoughts on important matters and on insignificant ones. If that isn't love Granger, then you're right, and I don't know what is." I watched him with liquid eyes while he stared down at me, the depths of his blue eyes striking guilt into my heart like a lightning bolt, clattering across my mind like the roll of thunder, heavy in the calmness that precedes a storm.

"George," I whispered, wanting to take back the selfish words I had spoken in haste, to defend a book and characters that were not even real, would not acknowledge my fight on their behalf, and instead sought to provide some sort of comfort to the heart I had inadvertently wounded.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger." His words were spoken with such forceful finality that I stopped; lips parted in comical readiness to rush into my apology, and watched him walk away instead. His footsteps fell heavily on the carpeted floor, and dragged up the staircase to the room at the top that he occupied alone, a testament that he was one of few that had returned from a class ravaged by the war. I heard the empty click of the clock as he shut the door to that dorm, and imagined the pain seeping from those broad shoulders, carrying a burden too heavy for one man to bear alone. Realizing in a moment of utter clarity that I had not helped ease that burden in the slightest with my unguarded words, I stood up and made my way to the bottom of the staircase, placing one foot shakily on the bottom step as I contemplated ascending the oak boards after him.

"'Mione? What're you doing?" I turned quickly, shifting my feet guiltily as Ron and Harry stared back at me, looking for the entire world like I might be losing my mind. "That's the boy's dormitory," Harry stated slowly, enunciating clearly despite the fact that I knew what I was doing and was equipped with every faculty I possessed.

"You alright 'Mione?" It was Ron's turn to question my sanity, and I nodded mutely, backing away as I did so, until my back bumped into the couch and memories of George reclining peacefully there just minutes before forced me into an embarrassed half run, half walk up my own set of stairs to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I couldn't help but wonder what Ron and Harry would think, if they would think anything at all of my odd behavior. Sending up a quick prayer that they would leave it alone and not think to question me about it the next morning, I slipped out of my school robes and into my old flannel pajamas, and crawled into the cavernous expanse of my empty bed. The silky sheets were delightfully cool against my flushed skin, and I burrowed deeper, trying to quell the guilt rising within me once more as I remembered George's words, and the broken look etched into the back of his eyes.

"_If that isn't love, then you're right Granger," _his voice taunted my conscious, refusing to let me slide into a dreamless sleep, "_and I don't know what is."_ As the last echoes of his hurting ebbed from my waking mind, I thought back to the idea of love I'd been wishing for before he'd interrupted me, and I felt a few lone tears leak out of my eyes, gathering in wetness before I could think to wipe them away. I lay there, in the darkness of my dorm, aching and alone, crying for all those who had been hurt, ravaged, and left behind to deal with it all by war they had not had a choice in, except to fight, and hope that there was the chance they'd make it out alive.

_I don't know either George, _I thought tiredly, letting the inky blackness of sleep infringe upon my dark ruminations, _I don't know either. I'm sorry. _

**Well, that concluded Chapter Three! Tell me what you think, and perhaps anything you'd like to see! I'm open to suggestions! Though I do have some definite things in mind! Reviews also make me very happy! And a happy author makes for an author that likes to update! With THAT in mind, there's this little button right below this, you should think about taking an extra second to click on it. There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it?**


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